


Our Waltz

by cheerfulparadigm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabble, M/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:03:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerfulparadigm/pseuds/cheerfulparadigm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens in the quick space of a heartbeat. The loud crack of a gun sounds, leaving only echoes in the silence that follows. </p>
<p>You can't watch him die again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little thing I wrote while I was bored at a choir thing. Based off a tumblr post I saw a while ago. (Yes, it's been done before, but I wanted to try.) (Un-beta'd and un-britpicked as always.)

It happens in the quick space of a heartbeat. The loud crack of a gun sounds, leaving only echoes in the silence that follows. He falls to the ground and your movements are automatic. You fall to your knees beside him, tearing his coat open. Bright red has already started to stain the crisp white shirt, the deadly colour spreading more every second. You unwrap the scarf from his neck (more gently this time) and press it into the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding. You use your other hand to drag your phone out of your pocket, making the 999 call as fast as you can. You place the other hand on the scarf, pressing harder. No, no, no. There's too little time; you've seen this enough to know that. Shit. You can't watch him die again. "You'll be okay, Sherlock," you murmur more to yourself than him. "You'll be okay…"

You can feel his blood seeping through the fabric, staining your hands. You know exactly how many seconds he has left, but you refuse to count them down. You set your jaw and pray to whoever is listening that this brilliant idiot is spared. You asked him for a miracle before and got it. Why not now?

Your ears strain to listen for the sound of ambulance sirens in the distance, but then another sound reaches you, a soft, low humming. Sherlock's humming, you realise. A song that sounds familiar. Images of tuxedos and cake and dresses and vows float through your head. A wedding waltz. Your wedding waltz.

You swallow thickly. "Sherlock, what are you…"

With a small wistful look, the humming dies away and he takes his last shuddering breath as he whispers, "That could have been our waltz."

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate it forever if you left a comment and/or some kudos. uwu


End file.
